I had a dream. Dream of becoming a writer. A writer who is remembered for what he wrote , not on how many he wrote. Some one like Harper lee or Thiruvalluvar (if he is real). I used to say that's what my life is all about. If anyone wonder why these sentences are in past, because now I am becoming doubting Thomas. Not a doubting Thomas who put his toil and at the end found "oh, he is not there", and he does not have it. But a doubting Thomas because he never moved his first step in the direction of his dream. Is it what still he wants or is it a distant past of him, which he could not find in him any more. It's OK if the bright fire that was once , not in distant past, has become a cinder, but it looks as if it has become an ash. An ash: which has neither a warmth nor the trace of what it was a while ago.
If anyone reading this (I know there is only one who reads it), wonders why I think so, here is the revelation. Well I never wrote that often while I am in India as I am in US. However I wrote at least once a month, at least few lines to keep it floating. Sometimes there were longer gaps, I came back vowing I'll write more. But now it is close to an year since I last wrote. I used to say may be I am busy with things, new job, new house bla...bla... But now I am in US for a short trip, all alone with the time that gets killed on no purpose. Still I didn't thought of writing something.
It dawned on me, well I couldn't find anything to write about. That is the truth, somehow, somewhere in the life, I lost my urge to tell things, I lost opinions, I am becoming someone who neither has anything to tell nor wanted to tell. Is it because I found that there is no one to read what I say? I guess not. I don't know what triggered, life carried it all by itself, It keeps me spinning . I am becoming a top which tries to not to loose its foot and thrown out when the whip called life keeps you spinning like anything. Or is it just one more excuse?
Anyway I decided to record down whatever for some time I was noting down in my phone. Things which are too small to be find a place as a stand alone post.
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02-08-10:
Once I asked my Kerala friend, why he always carry umbrella? He said it's Kerala, you'll never know when it'll rain. Similarly its Chennai and you never know when you'll get stuck in traffic. Every road has the possibility to get congested. Just like how a clear sky can surprise with a downpour, a smooth flowing traffic can stop. Reason could be someone just parked a lorry and went or simply lot of people choose to travel in that road on that eventful day. Till you reach your house, you can never tell how long you have to be in the road.
Once I asked my Kerala friend, why he always carry umbrella? He said it's Kerala, you'll never know when it'll rain. Similarly its Chennai and you never know when you'll get stuck in traffic. Every road has the possibility to get congested. Just like how a clear sky can surprise with a downpour, a smooth flowing traffic can stop. Reason could be someone just parked a lorry and went or simply lot of people choose to travel in that road on that eventful day. Till you reach your house, you can never tell how long you have to be in the road.
03-08-10:
When you have nothing to do , no one to laugh or fight or cry or to talk about weather (for that matter on anything that neither of you care), you start to think. when everything else shuts up, mind starts to run amok. For me, of all things the toughest is, when I hit bed and close my eyes or when I am awake in the night journeys which keeps going as if never end, to not let my thought train start. The trouble is the horizon it dabble, questions it throw. They neither make the days passed as worthy one nor the days to come as green.
14-04-11:
He looked at me. He said, "you want to become the one, you never is". Before I react he went. He is nowhere. Maybe he is the one everywhere and I am just trying to find him somewhere alone and end up finding him nowhere.
09-05-11.
Life is like a train journey. A destination less journey, disguised as the one towards a destiny. The truth is every one's only destination is death. Till then we travel. All of a sudden in a station we are asked to get down and catch another train. Sometimes we make the choice , sometimes other force us. But each time we hop, we think it'll be a better journey in a cosy class. But all we do is keep waiting for the station to do the switch by looking at the station boards and biting our nails on whether we catch the next train.
Instead if we board the train and enjoy the luxury it gives , all looks better for a while , but soon things go down , just like a long distance train toilet. It gets more crowded and we are damned. We can never sit and enjoy the ride. Moment we do, we miss our hopping station- all the vigilant hops we did so far become waste. Popular wisdom is always right about the station one has to hop,class one have to board. But the trouble is one has to keep hopping till death. It never stops. Either one adjust himself to live in the staleness of pond or keep flowing. There is never a neutral in war and a balanced in life.
There is nothing about the people who do the hop all their life. But for others. For those who are like me: So the question is who is smart the one who gives up as he has no energy to hop after several hops or the one who settled with the first stale itself.
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This is good, though just copying what I wrote some time back. I figured some or most I have written stinks. It could have been done far better. But guess what, I love doing it. It is not like one of those movies which you love as kid and now in your thirties , you watch again and wonder, Did I like this shit. Still I guess this is part of my life, My dream,( thought there is a good chance it'll be just my dream).
